


Time is Running Out (so Sing for Absolution)

by fanaticalgeek



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009), Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1588526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanaticalgeek/pseuds/fanaticalgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Muse's songs. I'm not sure how to summarize without spoiling the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time is Running Out (so Sing for Absolution)

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Muse or their songs/lyrics.

_**Time is Running Out**_  
 _I think I'm drowning_  
 _Asphyxiated_  
 _I wanna break this spell_  
 _That you've created_

_You're something beautiful_  
 _A contradiction_  
 _I wanna play the game_  
 _I want the friction_

_You will be the death of me  
Yeah, you will be the death of me_

When it happened, it wasn’t Holmes that figured it out.

Of course, he had noticed Watson’s more frequent bouts of introspection, but for once, he could not deduce what his friend was thinking about.

Thusly, it had come as a surprise when John had declared his love for the consulting detective.

Holmes hadn’t known how to respond, instead only blinking at his friend for some time, wondering if he was possibly hallucinating. John had stood still before him, unfidgeting and calm.

“I thought you had the right to know,” John murmured. “If you feel you cannot associate with me, I will respect your wishes. But…unless you tell me otherwise, I am not leaving.”

Holmes smirked at the resolution in his friend’s voice, glad that he wouldn’t have to convince Watson to stay; he didn’t want his only friend to leave.

He quietly stepped forward and placed a gentle kiss on Watson’s lips, before wrapping him up in a hug.

“You’ll have to bear with me, Watson, if I get something wrong. I’ve never been in a relationship before.”

A sharp intake of breath was the only warning he had before Watson’s lips were back on his, in a kiss much less chaste than their first.

“You’ll be the death of me, Holmes,” John chuckled breathlessly.

He only smiled and leaned in for another kiss.

_Bury it_  
 _I won't let you bury it_  
 _I won't let you smother it_  
 _I won't let you murder it_

_Our time is running out_  
 _Our time is running out_  
 _You can't push it underground_  
 _You can't stop it screaming out_

From there, their relationship barely changed. Holmes was scared to let things progress from kissing, but Watson seemed to understand, as he didn’t push for anything more.

Well, he didn’t for a week, at least.

“Lie with me,” he breathed against Holmes’s lips.

Holmes tensed. “I’m not—”

“Just lie with me. Nothing more.”

Holmes acquiesced and allowed John to lead him upstairs to his room.

Once there, they both stripped to their underthings and curled together on the bed, legs gently intertwining and heads close together.

John hummed softly in his throat when Holmes leaned forward and reinitiated their kisses. As the soft licks of the palate and gentle sucks and nips of bottom lips turned to hungry devouring of mouths, John pulled back, but not away, and slowed their movements until their kisses calmed. Holmes whined high in his throat, but followed John, unwilling to break away from his lips.

“Easy, old boy,” John whispered. “There’s no rush.”

“Of course there’s a rush. Who knows how long we’ll have to partake in these illegal activities.”

“Very well,” John smirked, rising up over Holmes’s body. His fingers danced and drew and played over the detective’s skin, bringing forth melodies composed of moans and gasps as well as Holmes drew beautiful concertos and arias from the strings of his violin.

_I wanted freedom_  
 _Bound and restricted_  
 _I tried to give you up_  
 _But I'm addicted_

_Now that you know I'm trapped,_  
 _Sense of elation_  
 _You'd never dream of_  
 _Breaking this fixation_

_You will squeeze the life out of me_

_Bury it_  
 _I won't let you bury it_  
 _I won't let you smother it_  
 _I won't let you murder it_

_Our time is running out_  
 _Our time is running out_  
 _You can't push it underground_  
 _You can't stop it screaming out_  
 _How did it come to this?_  
 _Oh_

Holmes pulled away from Watson’s touch slowly. He had been doing so for the last month, and it had become confusing, since Watson did not know why. He’d expected Holmes to pull away that first night nigh on six months ago.

“Holmes?” he questioned quietly. “What is it? Why do you distance yourself from me? Did I do something to offend you?”

“Of course not, John!”

“Do you wish to…stop…seeing me in such a way?”

Holmes stared at his bed companion, his lover, for long moments, before finally whispering a soft, “No.” He shifted closer and rested his head on John’s chest. “I want you, John, I still do, I swear. I’m just…scared…worried…”

“Why, dear boy?”

“We could be hanged for this, if we were caught or even implicated.”

“We just have to be careful,” John murmured.

Holmes wrapped an arm around John’s middle. “I’ve been trying to distance myself so you’d be safe, but…I can’t. I can’t stop this. I want you too much.”

“I love you, Holmes. That’s all we need. You can’t stop love, yes?”

“Yes. Love you, John.”

They pulled each other close and fell into an uneasy sleep.

_Yeah, you will suck the life out of me_

_Bury it_  
 _I won't let you bury it_  
 _I won't let you smother it_  
 _I won't let you murder it_

_Our time is running out_  
 _Our time is running out_  
 _You can't push it underground_  
 _You can't stop it screaming out_  
 _How did it come to this?_  
 _Oh_

They were careful. At least…they thought they were. What they didn’t expect was Lestrade and Clarky and another constable to burst into the sitting room, without announcing themselves or knocking, because they needed Holmes for an emergency. What the three men walked in on was harmless, just Holmes and Watson stretched out on the settee. But they had been kissing, and with a look of deep regret in his eyes, Lestrade had to arrest them.

They did not fight or struggle. Fighting would get them nowhere, they knew.

Thankfully, they were not thrown in with the other criminals, but instead taken to separate, but neighboring cells.

They would murmur to each other at night, lying as close as they could with the wall between them, whispers of love and comfort, but not assurance, never assurance, for there was never hope in cases such as theirs. They had been caught, and now had to pay the price.

But then, one night a week later, Lestrade came and unlocked Holmes’s cell, who could only stare in disbelief and confusion.

“I’m here to release you, Mr. Holmes. We need your detective skills, so I convinced the higher ups to let you go.” He stepped back and allowed Holmes to exit the cell.

“You’re the one who put me here, Lestrade,” Holmes remarked quietly.

“I had to. If it had been just me coming in your rooms, maybe I could’ve…” He ducked his head and cleared his throat. “I am sorry.”

“It is your job, Lestrade. No one can blame you for that.” He stepped aside and stood expectantly by Watson’s cell door. “Well? What are you waiting for? Open his cell!” Watson stepped forward silently, a resigned look on his face, still in only the dirtied shirtsleeves and trousers he’d worn when they’d been brought in.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes, Doctor. I was only able to get pardon for you.”

“Then I won’t go.”

“Holmes,” Watson murmured softly, his hands covering Holmes’s wrapped around the cell bars.

“I will not leave you.”

“You must.”

“No—”

“You _must_ , Holmes. You are far more important than an old army doctor.”

“No! Never say that, John…” The look of anguish on his face nearly broke Watson’s heart, but he had to continue; he had to do this. For both their sakes.

“But it’s true, Holmes.” He reached his hands through the bars and cupped Holmes’s face, bringing their foreheads together. “I love you, Holmes. Be safe.”

“Don’t make me leave. Please.” His voice was choked with the tears he didn’t want to shed. “I can’t watch you be hanged.”

“Holmes, listen to me.” He placed a soft kiss on those trembling lips. “I love you. Please, for me, go.”

“Mr. Holmes, we need to go ‘fore anyone changes their mind,” Lestrade murmured, reluctant to interrupt.

Holmes finally looked up and stared deep into Watson’s eyes, a single tear escaping and carefully wiped away by surgeon’s fingers. “I love you,” he breathed, his hand gently grasping Watson’s wrist.

“I know, Watson whispered, his tone loving and full of understanding. They came together for a final, heart wrenching kiss before Watson pulled away with a gentle, sad smile. 

“Go, love.”

As Lestrade ushered Holmes away, Watson turned and sat against the wall, finally crumpling in on himself.

It appeared his time had run out.

 

_**Sing for Absolution**_  
 _lips are turning blue_  
 _a kiss that can't renew_  
 _I only dream of you_  
 _my beautiful_

_tiptoe to your room_  
 _a starlight in the gloom_  
 _I only dream of you_  
 _and you never knew_

Holmes stepped quietly into the cold room, eyes fixed on the body before him. He hadn’t been allowed, thankfully, to witness the hanging that morning. Now, Lestrade had brought him down to the morgue after much pleading.

With hands barely shaking, he reached out to touch the cooling skin of Watson’s face. He could see the light blue tinge of death beginning to cover lips he knew so intimately. Those lips, that face, had haunted his dreams for so long, and now they would haunt his sleeping and waking mind for entirely different reasons.

“Might I have a moment? Alone, please.”

Lestrade merely nodded, “I’ll be in the hall.”

Holmes didn’t watch him leave, but he did wait until the door closed before leaning forward and kissing eternally still lips.

_sing for absolution_  
 _I will be singing_  
 _And falling from your grace_

_there's nowhere left to hide_  
 _in no one to confide_  
 _the truth burns deep inside_  
 _and will never die_

_lips are turning blue_  
 _a kiss that can't renew_  
 _I only dream of you_  
 _my beautiful_

“Please do not hate me, my dear John. Wherever you reside now, if there is an afterlife and you are watching me, please understand. You _must_ know that I would have rather died with you than live without you. I know it so deeply that there can be no other truth: I will die without you.” He grasped Watson’s hand, bringing the lax knuckles to his lips, and held it to his chest. “You were everything to me. What all else failed to see was not hidden from you. You were my air, my confidant. You were my light in those dark times. I fear I shall fall again without you.

“If I had only paid attention that day, mayhap we would still be in our sitting room. If only…

“Oh, my dear, beautiful John Watson. If only I could bring you back like a fairytale, with only a kiss.” He pressed his brow to John’s unmoving chest and wept.

_sing for absolution_  
 _I will be singing_  
 _And falling from your grace_

_sing for absolution_  
 _I will be singing_  
 _And falling from your grace_

_our wrongs remain unrectified  
and our souls won't be exhumed_

Absolved, and with vacuous eyes, he asked Lestrade to take him home.

“If you need anything, Mr. Holmes…” Lestrade stumbled as the driver of the cab whipped up his horse.

“What I need, Lestrade, you cannot provide. Unless you can revive the dead or manipulate time, of course.”

Lestrade flushed. “I’m sorry, Holmes, but I cannot.”

“Then, no, I do not need of anything but a few days to myself.”

“Of course.”

As the cab pulled to a stop, Holmes was already leaping out, followed by Lestrade’s parting words of, “You can reach me if I’m needed,” that Holmes merely waved away without comment.

Mrs. Hudson was not in, which made it easier for Holmes to slip upstairs undetected and lock the door.

His eyes immediately drifted to the morocco case on the mantle. “Forgive me, Watson, that I could not and cannot do anything to fix this,” he whispered as he pulled down the case and opened it carefully.

“Forgive me that I cannot save myself the way you’ve always saved me,” as he plucked the syringe and drew from the bottle of seven percent solution.

As he plunged the needle slowly, deeply into a vein, he breathed, “Forgive me, John.”


End file.
